


Genius

by Era_Penn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped, Kidnapping, Protective Team, Team Bonding, Tony Feels, Tony Whump, Torture, kidnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a typical supervillain kidnapping, Tony, realizing just how expendable he is in the situation, does the smart thing and distracts the kidnappers. With his mouth, body, brain, and a scalpel. Theirs, not his. Because clearly if any of them have the information their captors are after, it's going to be the technological genius. </p><p>His team is NOT happy about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Genius

Oh God, his mouth.

No, it's not what you're thinking, get your mind out of the gutter. For one thing, he was referring to his own mouth. For another, he was cursing it, not praising it, because he really needed to learn to shut the hell up. His team might murder him in the near future - which might be a relief, actually.

He'd woken up in a cell, which was less uncommon than he cared to admit, to anyone, ever.

* * *

"Oh, fuck." He stated, quite eloquently.

"Stark?"

"Romanov!"

"Tasha?"

"Clint."

"Oh, shit."

"Brucey-bear!"

"Tony."

"Steve!"

Silence.

"Well," Tony stated, "at least they haven't got Thor."

"Hello?"

Tony sighed. "Coulson's free."

* * *

It wasn't long before the villain of the week joined them; maybe twenty minutes. Tony suspected they were being watched/recorded, maybe both. “Well,” the woman mused, looking between their cages. “Dr. Banner and Thor are certainly out, too difficult to control. Dose them again?” groans and coughs accompanied the hiss of gas into two cells down the hall. “Good. Now Captain America! I bet you've got some good secrets to tell.” Cap remained mute.

“Oh, please.” Tony snorted, drawing her attention as Natasha, across the hall, looked at him in alarm. “He’s too much of a goody-two-shoes. SHIELD doesn't tell him 80% of their operations. He’d be all righteous anger and make them stop.”

“And SHIELD tells you things?”

“Well, no. But I hack their systems and read anything I find important on a bi-weekly basis. It’s a matter of principle! I can’t be going around doing the bidding of idiots, now can I?”

“Tony, shut up.”

“It seems the only idiot here is you, mister Stark.” the woman sounds frustrated now - he’s stolen her limelight. And insulted his intelligence. Sorry, Clint, he can’t shut up after that.

“Me? I am a genius, thank you very much! I learned astrophysics _overnight_ , lady.” His heart is pounding in his ears.

“Not much of a self-preservation instinct.” she’s right in front of him now. He hears at least three snorts ( _all_ of his teammates who are currently conscious). Ungrateful bastards, he’s saving their skins right now. They’d better return the favor, he is seriously counting on them right now. In this situation, his brain is his only asset, and they've got Bruce for that, so he’ll play damsel in distress just this once. Without his suit, he at least can make a good distraction.

“Don’t need one.” He snorted. “Do you know how much fun I'd've missed out on over the years? Never would've gone base jumping, for one. Nor would I have been in any brawls, gotten drunk, or skydived with five models.” he sighed dreamily. “Good times.”

She must give some sort of signal, because suddenly there are six men there to drag him out of his cell. He takes down three - it would be far too obvious if he didn't fight back, though Natasha and Clint have guessed by now.

“Dammit Stark!” Cap is swearing somewhere (he isn't sure from which direction, exactly, that last blow dazed him a little), Natasha and Clint stonily silent.

“Of course, if your team does know the answers we’re looking for, they can speak up at any time.” She comments just before the doors slide shut.

* * *

So, just to reiterate: his mouth. He really needs to learn to keep it shut. Now is as good a time to practice as any, seeing as how he’s just lying on a cold metal table with his own ragged breathing and all-too familiar pain for company.

He has no doubt his new best friend will be back soon, though. They’d only been going for ten minutes, after all.

Sure enough, it only took his captor ten minutes to return.

“Bathroom break, sweetheart?” he snarked, carefully breathing evenly past his bloody nose and cracked ribs. They’d started with a beating, smart enough to largely avoid his head - he wouldn't be of any use with a concussion. Now the bruises and aches and exhaustion that came with a beat down would exacerbate any further injuries they cared to deal out. Smart.

“Hardly, Mister Stark.”

“Oh, Tony, please.” he replied. “Surely we’re on a first-name basis after all we've been through?”

Apparently, his new best friend didn't appreciate a good joke, as she turned to the small table beside her and selected a scalpel. 

“Aw, that’s no way to start a friendship.” he said as she placed the scalpel at a point just above the reactor. Shit, this was going to suck on more levels than one. He drew a ragged breath as she began to carve a shallow circle around the device.

“The codes, Mister Stark.” she stated. Straightforward, these villains; certainly makes for a nice change of pace.

“Nope,” he hissed, between clenched teeth. For such a shallow wound, he sure was bleeding a lot. This was going to _suck_.

* * *

Natasha can see Clint and Steve from where she is. Clint is right next to where Tony was, and Steve is directly across from him, to her left. Bruce and Thor are farther down the hall, just beginning to stir almost two hours after Tony was taken. She had been beginning to worry.

“Idiot,” Bruce gasped.

“Genius.” Natasha replied. She’d already calculated in her head. He could potentially get ahold of tech he could use, leaving the rest of them with their unique skill sets to break out and come after him. “He made the most tactically sound decision.”

“He thinks he’s expendable.” Clint growled. “And no, it wasn't.”

“Okay, so a decision.” she replied calmly. “We will rectify the matter after we retrieve him.”

“Anyone got anything?” Steve demanded.

“I've got nothing,” Clint replied, with grunts of agreement from their drugged up companions.

“There are the trackers Tony’s been slipping into our cereal.” Natasha replied. “And two bobby pins, a lining knife, and a toothpick.”

“Damn, they left you quite the arsenal. Wait - he’s been feeding us trackers?”

“Well, they didn't really leave me the bobby pins.” she replied, not bothering to answer the stupid question. She wouldn't have said it if it weren't so. “They’re in my stomach. Hopefully none of you boys are squeamish.”

“Why didn't you say something sooner?” Steve asked.

“Wouldn't have done us any good. Now Bruce and Thor can sort of move under their own power.” Natasha replied. “We need as much time as we can get.”

That was when the screaming started.

* * *

Wherever he was, he was certain the other Avengers were supposed to hear him scream. They wanted to break ~~his family~~ (don’t go taking liberties you don’t deserve just because you’re tired, brain) them as much as him, and he would not allow that, ever.

But after about an hour and a half, when she was done drawing ever-deeper and ever-larger circles radiating out from the reactor with agonizing slowness and after another beating (and a few broken bones), she shook her head and sighed. “Well, we need to close these up,” she said. “Wouldn't want you bleeding to death.”

“How kind of you.” He was light-headed and exhausted, and hurting not only from the cuts themselves, but also the flashback he’d had of Obadiah right in the middle of it all. His eyes widened when she pulled one of the pokers out of the fire. Not only was it going to hurt, it was going to take forever to work over all those cuts. And apparently she was working from the outside in. “Maybe we can be buddies after -” he choked on his words as the scent of burning flesh reached his nose, biting deep into his lip (again) to hold in the agony tearing at his throat.

She only got through the first circle before a scream slipped out. He bit down on his own tongue (again), hard enough to draw blood, but it wasn't enough this time, and soon more screams were slipping free, echoing off the walls and looping through his head.

“Good, good,” she whispered, sickening praise. “Scream for me. Scream for your team to hear.”

His team? What… Oh yeah… He needed to be quiet…

Another shriek slipped out.

* * *

By the time Natasha had managed to get them all out of their cells and on their feet almost a half-hour later, every one of them was tense as a wire. Even Bruce and Thor, drugged as they were, had been upset enough to stand and walk through sheer willpower. That, of course, was when SHIELD arrived, Coulson heading the charge, mouth set in a grim line. Baby agents got Thor and Bruce out while Steve, Clint, and Natasha went looking as alarms began to blare.

The sudden cessation of the screaming was more terrifying than the noise had been.

* * *

Tony blinked sweat out of his eyes, feeling the blood run sluggishly down the side of his face from the cut near his temple. Three of the six circles still bled sluggishly, the others cauterized; one of his legs felt broken, and a line of red trailed from the corner of his mouth, thanks to all the damage he’d done staying silent for the first couple hours. There were black spots in his vision.

He wondered why she’d stopped. He knew he hadn't told her anything.

“Tony, stay with me buddy -”

Oh, he’d closed his eyes. When had that happened? Forcing them open again, he blinked at Clint, crouched over him, turning his head slightly to see that the archer had a bobby pin in one of the cuffs.

“Sorry about the screaming.” he croaked.

“Damn, Stark, I’m awed you stayed quiet as long as you did.” Clint replied, easy tone belying the terrified worry written across his face.

“Think I’m gonna pass out,” he croaked.

“Nope, not allowed. You have to stay awake, Stark, we need to get out of here.”

“‘M tired,” he said. “An’ thers black spots.”

“Yeah, I know, and it sucks, but you've got to stay awake.”

“‘M _trying_ ,” he gasped. “I try a lot, but no one ever seems t’ realize.”

“You are surprisingly coherent.”

Tony blinked at the archer as the last manacle came free. “Think my leg’s broken,” he managed to spit out, faintly hearing Clint’s frantic attempts to keep him awake as the darkness filled his vision.

* * *

The medics got to Tony and Clint exactly eighteen seconds after the billionaire had passed out. Clint refused to let the other man out of his sight, very aware of his teammate’s blood on his skin and clothes as he jumped into the medical evac unit as it took off, hardly noticing one of the nurses reporting their location and status to Coulson.

And then he had a thought and snatched the comm unit. “Coulson,” he said. “Don’t let the others in.”

Silence for a long moment. “Understood.” their handler replied as the rest of the Avengers began protesting.

* * *

By the time the other Avengers got back, Tony was cleaned up and resting, denied visitors until tomorrow at the earliest. Clint was leaning on the door, eyes closed and breathing regular despite the blood on his hands and uniform.

“Clint.”

“Tasha.”

“Has medical looked you over?”

“Not my blood.” he replied quietly.

“I’ll stand watch. Go shower and then come back.” She peered through the thin window on the door before giving the others a chance. Cleaned up, Tony looked like he could be sleeping, but with Clint on the edge of shock, she knew it had to have been worse than it looked from the door.

* * *

Tony woke up to a light weight across his body and someone crooning a lullaby in Russian and running their fingers through his hair. He blinked vaguely into the dark. “Tasha?” he croaked, coughing lightly. Suddenly the fingers were gone and it was quiet, a few ice chips slipped past his lips before he drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

The next time he woke, he was much, much more coherent. “Long was I out?” he asked the vague form beside his bed.

“Two days,” Bruce said from the other side as Cap let out a strangled, “Tony!”

“Two days. Not so bad then.” He mumbled, blinking slowly getting longer and longer. “I’m just gonna sleep more then.”

* * *

The third time he woke he stayed awake for almost an hour as Thor regaled him with tales of their defeated foes, which was very entertaining while he was on the Good Stuff.

* * *

The fourth time he woke, it was for good, and he could feel a familiar restlessness in his bones. A warm hand held him down when he tried to get up.

“No.” Clint said firmly. “You are staying still and resting, and not aggravating your broken ribs, punctured lung, broken leg, or third-degree burns.”

“When’d I puncture a lung?” he asked, confused, because he didn't remember that happening.

“When they moved you.” Oooh, Clint was pissed, someone in medical’s head must have rolled. “I’m glad you find it so funny!”

“‘M on the Good Stuff,” Tony replied defiantly, because if he wasn't he’d be in sooo much more pain than this. “I wanna sit up.”

Clint very carefully levered him into a sitting position, propping him up with pillows. Tony beamed at him. “See? fine.”

“You passed out on me. That is Not Cool, Tony.”

He blinked, confused. “I pass out on you lots.”

Clint made a strangled sound of frustration. “Not usually from massive blood loss! Dammit, Tony! Why did you do that? Steve heals faster, and Natasha -”

“I’m not useful out of the armor,” Tony replied, very, very quietly, because he’d been trying so hard to hide that, to make up for it, and now they knew, “and I -”

“I don’t care if you’re fucking _useful_ , fuck, Tony. You’re my friend, you idiot! It’s not -” Clint ran his hands through his hair. Tony made people do that a lot, and now he was getting teary. This was why he hated drugs, they made him loopy and he said things he shouldn't say.

“I am?”

Yep. Like that. And now Clint looked like someone had kicked his puppy, and Tony knew he’d sounded super bewildered and such stuff like that.

“Yeah, buddy. Yeah, you are.”

Tony blinked at him. “Oh. I mean, I knew you were my friend, but I didn't know I was yours - they’re totally different, y’know - and usually - and then there was that thing - that shit with the sparrow, and I didn't…” he trailed away as Clint looked at him in utter confusion.

“Sparrow? What?”

Yeah, no brain to mouth filter. Luckily, he was saved by the door slamming open and three worried teammates spilling into the room.

* * *

Eventually, they lowered his drug dosage, and it became much easier to stay awake. A week and a half after admittance to medical, Tony checked out AMA and called Happy to take him home, because he hated SHIELD and he wanted his own pillows and a lot of coffee.

He didn't expect to face resistance to his plan to hole up in his workshop until he recovered, but it turned out Clint was less a hawk and more a mother hen. He wouldn't let Tony do anything. He even got his coffee in the morning and fetched and carried things as simple as his slippers. It was making him worried, and eventually, in a rare moment to himself (in the bathroom) he called Coulson.

“I think Clint is a pod person.”

“I don’t have time for this, Stark.”

“No, really,” Tony whined. “He keeps doing things for me and being nice about it. He hasn't made a snarky comment in the last three days!”

“He’s the one who found you.”

Tony blinked. “What does that have to do with -”

“And by extension, he’s the only one who saw you before medical cleaned you up. You scared him, Stark.”

Tony gaped. “Wait - what? Why?”

“Because you’re his friend. Now, I really have to get back to this paperwork.” Coulson hung up on him and Tony stayed there for a long time, gaping at the phone.

“Tony?” Clint tapped on the door. “Are you okay in there?”

“Peachy,” he managed, flushing the empty toilet and turning on the sink.

* * *

By the end of the second week, he was done.

“Dammit Clint, I’m not going to break!” he snapped, instantly feeling bad.

Clint stared at him. “Yeah. I’ll just… Yeah.”

And now Tony felt like a dick, despite Natasha’s eye roll at her partner and the money exchanging hands over in Bruce and Steve’s corner of the kitchen.

* * *

On the plus side, without Clint’s constant hovering he finally made it down to his workshop. Every muscle in his body lost tension he didn't know was there. “Daddy’s home!” he called, clapping his hands as the lights came up. Dummy, Butterfingers and You squealed, racing over for pats on the head. After a moment’s hesitation, Tony sighed. Curse his conscience.

“J? Give Clint limited access to the shop.”

“Of course, sir.” Damn AI sounded pleased. “And may I say, it is good to have you back.”

Turning to his workbench, he settled onto a stool he kept specifically for when he managed to injure a leg or foot and grinned. “Pull up my projects, Jarvis.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Clint slid around in the vents, knowing he was being ridiculous. Tony, though, had become part of the very select group of friends Clint had, and apparently the genius hadn't even realized it. He sighed when he realized where he was headed.

Tony’s workshop was the most secure place in the entire tower, and for good reason. Clint didn't like to think about what would happen if the wrong hands got their greedy phalanges on some of the less-powerful tech down there, let alone the good stuff. Clint had never gotten any closer in the vents than in the actual tower, though, which was both reassuring and disappointing. He really wanted to see it.

Eventually he hit the area where he was always stopped, but much to his surprise, the barriers usually in his way retracted as he approached, like the automatic doors at a grocery store, sliding shut again behind him. Cautiously he made his way forward, wondering. He could hear AC/DC pounding through the space, sending vibrations through the vents. Eventually he hit an opening, and looking down he gasped.

Tony sat on a swivel chair at the center of a rotating mass of hovering holograms, lit by the blue all around him. A small smile truer than any Clint had seen before graced his lips, making him look years younger. Nimble fingers tweaked here and there on an enlarged, holographic mechanism, and suddenly with an order he couldn't hear, more than a dozen small parts flew together into a shape he could recognize anywhere. 

His quiver.

 _Jarvis, run simulation_ , he caught, reading Tony’s lips. 

“Simulation successful, sir.” Jarvis voice was pitched above the music, which dropped in volume with a gesture from Tony.

“Good,” he said, sounding satisfied before looking up. “Are you just going to hide up there all day, birdbrain?”

Clint blinked and slid the vent cover aside, dropping out and staring around in wonder. Tony was more relaxed, more real, than Clint had ever seen him, clearly more at home here than anywhere else. _Oh_ , he realized. That’s why they’d never been allowed in before. It was like the vents were for him. And he hadn’t been a friend before.

“Wow.” he said.

“I know.” Tony replied smugly. Clint jumped at a chirp and movement from a corner. “Meet Dummy, Butterfingers, and You.” he pointed to each of three robots gathered around a small vidscreen in the corner watching Wall-E. “They’re harmless little idiots, don’t mind them.”

Despite the insult, Clint could hear the affection in the man’s voice, and grinned. “You made the three stooges,” he accused.

“Honey, the three stooges’ve got nothing on them.” he replied, smirking.

Clint grinned. Tony was fine, and he was fine, and life was good. And he had an idea.

“So, I had this idea…”

“Would Coulson approve?”

“...No.”

“Lay it on me.” Tony smirked, and Clint’s world settled back around him.

“Well…”


End file.
